


Maybe

by Tarlan



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After three years of grieving, Chris is starting to feel ready to move on with his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoenix1972](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix1972/gifts).



> Written for PHOENIX1972 as a gift for Trick or Treat!

The lively sound of the piano drew Chris into the brightly lit saloon. No one but the bartender seemed to notice him as he walked through the batwing doors and settled against the bar. He raised his hand and a glass was placed before him. The bartender sloshed two fingers of whiskey into the glass but Chris struck quickly, grasping the man's wrist before he could walk away. A glance was all it took, and the bartender left the bottle behind. Chris downed the first shot, grimacing at the rough taste, before pouring himself another. He half turned in his seat when he heard raucous laughter, smiling slightly at the gentleman gambler entertaining at the poker table while he dealt the cards. No doubt the constant talk was simply a distraction to hide his cheating, but as it wasn't Chris's money on the table, he could care less.

A woman's laugh rose above the predominantly male voices and Chris glanced over to see what kind of girl was working the men in this saloon. She looked pretty enough, and voluptuous, but not enough to turn his head unless he was in real need of a friendly hand. She wasn't the only lady working that night. Chris caught sight of a brightly colored bodice and a lilac feather boa, but the lady was already engaging a potential customer. He sighed deeply when he recognized the man in question.

Buck Wilmington.

Shaking his head, Chris turned back to the bar and to the bottle of whiskey still waiting patiently for him to empty, though for once he did not feel the urge to drown his sorrows in its amber depths. After almost three years of wandering from town to town, taking on work as a gun for hire when his funds dipped too low, he was finally coming out from the dark side of that all-consuming grief that had struck him down with the loss of Sarah and his boy.

The only constant in those years had been his former best friend--a man who seemed to be following him from town to town despite the number of times Chris had tried to drive him away. He had to give that to Buck. He was as stubborn as mule.

The piano player went through two more rowdy tunes before Chris felt that familiar presence at his shoulder and glance across at Buck. He was of a mind to protest when Buck's hand snaked across to snag the bottle, pouring himself a drink but, for once, Chris didn't mind the company.

"You staying in town long, Chris?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Already got myself a room at the boarding house," he remarked with a shrug. "I'm willing to share with a friend."

Chris narrowed his eyes a fraction because Buck hadn't used that familiar line on him since before he lost Sarah. Even as little as a month back, Chris might have punched him for suggesting they go do what had kept them an extra night in Mexico. At one time he believed that if he hadn't stopped to scratch that particular itch with Buck, then Sarah and Adam might still be alive. Now the worst of the rage and self-flagellation had passed, he knew it wouldn't have made a difference except Buck would have buried three bodies alone that day instead of the both of them burying Chris's wife and child.

After three years, he wanted to scratch that itch again.

"Lead the way."

Chris dropped some coins on the bar for the bartender, who scooped them up with a nod as Chris grabbed the bottle and followed Buck. The boarding house turned out to be the usual low rent variety but the sheets looked as if they had been boiled recently, and blankets smelled like they'd been aired that day. After locking the door behind them, Chris removed his hat, coat, vest and shirt before untying his gun belt and hanging it over the bed post so the holstered gun would lay within easy reach. He sank down onto a straight-backed chair set into the corner of the room and pulled off his boots, leaving them set side-by-side. All the while, he watched Buck slowly undress, pulling off the layers until he was clad only in his underwear.

Buck gave him a heated grin of anticipation as he pulled off that last barrier, giving Chris time to fully appreciate the naked skin beneath the layers of clothing. He watched as Buck leaned back on the bed, propped up by the pillows

"Gonna just sit there all night and watch?"

Chris smiled slightly. "Maybe I will. You going to put on a show, Buck?"

Chris should have remembered not to tease Buck because, once more, it backfired on him as Buck wrapped his big hand around his cock and began to stroke, slow and easy. Chris felt his pants tightening and he squirmed in his seat, finally giving up and stripping out of the too-tight pants. He pulled off his faded underwear, adding it to the pile of his clothes on the dresser before stalking towards Buck.

The first brush of skin on skin felt like lightening dancing across his flesh. So similar and yet so different from a woman's touch, and he knew it was the slight tingle of wrongness, from knowing they were playing a dangerous game that could get a man hanged or worse. Yet it felt more right than fucking one of the whores from the saloon, with their made-up faces and their hole still wet with another man's seed.

Buck rolled until they were face-to-face, with his hand wrapped around both their cocks, and Chris lost himself in the slow thrust, feeling the tension build and then release as came, his forehead pressing against Buck's shoulder as he savored the wave of pleasure that enfolded him. He heard Buck curse softly, coming moments later, and allowed Buck to steal one soft, languid kiss before he drew back, not wanting to risk any tell-tale sign of beard burn.

Cleaned and dressed in their underwear, they relaxed shoulder to shoulder on the bed. Buck reached over and traced the line of Chris's jaw with one finger.

"What say we ride out tomorrow, Chris. Leave this one-horse town behind and find us a nice private spot."

Chris thought about it for a moment, remembering the feel of Buck pressing inside him and how he had hollered in pleasure when he came--too loud for a place with paper-thin walls.

"Maybe," he replied, and Buck grinned because he knew that meant, _hell yes_.

END


End file.
